


Rouse the Serpent

by Daebeth



Series: Rouse the Angel [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - All Media Types
Genre: Angelic Repression and Denial, Aziraphale doesn't sleep because his subconscious comes for his repressed ass when he tries, Crowley has ambiguous genitalia, Frottage, Sex with Snake Form Crowley (Good Omens), Shapeshifting Crowley (and sex with him), Snondage (Snake Bondage), Wet Dream, Wings, aziraphale has a penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27300673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daebeth/pseuds/Daebeth
Summary: With Crowley's advice, Aziraphale gives sleeping another try - and gets more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Rouse the Angel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993264
Comments: 11
Kudos: 44
Collections: Name That Author Round 3: After Dark





	Rouse the Serpent

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for NTA on the GO-Events server, for the prompt "This better not awaken anything in me". 
> 
> Cleaned up and expanded, and Betad by the lovely entanglednow!

It has been a few centuries since Aziraphale's last (fruitless) attempts at sleep, but with Crowley's latest instructions on the topic in mind – "Yes, _all_ of it, Angel, the human body has all those instincts built in, if you try to control only parts of it, you're gonna wind up flailing out of bed while dreaming, or worse! Do you want to explain to Upstairs you got discorporated because you _inhibited the wrong muscles_ when taking a nap?" – he sets his corporation's nervous system to self-regulate as he climbs into a bed he has so far mostly used to read in a reclined position.

He takes care when settling his head on the pillow. A crick in the neck would surely be unpleasant to wake up to.

Aziraphale is standing on the walls of Eden and knows – how does he know? a distant, still aware part of his mind questions – that it is that evening, and not-yet-Crowley will join him soon.

He turns just in time to see the snout poke above the wall, then twists to follow the slithering progress behind and around him – had he truly paid such close attention, or is his mind filling in the blanks, and if so, how?

He admires the sheen of the serpent's scales, a rare and therefore all the more precious sight, but when he rights himself to look at what should be Crowley transforming into his more familiar humanoid form, he instead feels the gentle rasp of sun-warmed scales slithering over the arch of his bare foot.

Aziraphale looks down and watches Crowley slide up and around his body with his usual disregard for gravity, feels his wings fold in to mantle him and be pinned over his arms by the serpent's powerful coils, and is abruptly aware that his feathers are now the only thing covering his skin.

He’s trapped and vulnerable. At the demon’s mercy, if there is such a thing.

Not _really_ trapped, a part of his mind insists.

He is still an angel, he could force his corporation to wake – in fact, he _should_ rouse himself.

Crowley looks at Aziraphale's face, forked tongue darting out to flicker at his lips, mirth shining in his golden eyes, and suddenly Aziraphale falls backwards, lands safely enveloped in black feathers that shouldn't be there.

He should rouse himself.

A thin forked tongue dances over his nipples, his belly, his rapidly stiffening member, leaving a trail of what must be hellfire in its wake.

Slender limbs are caressing him, exploring him, and he longs to return their embrace.

He should rouse himself.

His hands, suddenly freed, eagerly seek out feathers to bury his fingers in and scales to stroke and trace with his fingertips. His mouth finds skin, lips caressing and blunt teeth gently nipping at Crowley’s collarbones.

Crowley chuckles and, the ends of his glorious hair brushing over Aziraphale’s skin, pulls back to look at him, one eyebrow quirked. 

The outlines and color of his scales are still gracing his face when he, flashes his fangs in a wide, playful grin, before he leans back in to gently scrape them over Aziraphale's shoulder as if to show him what _real_ teeth can do.

He should rouse himself.

Scales turn to skin beneath his hands – he is now grasping at Crowley's bottom, fingers sinking into the flesh, feeling the muscles work under his palms as the demon grinds himself against the angel’s erection, and Aziraphale’s hips strain up to meet him of their own accord until he shatters under the delicious friction.

His eyelashes scrape against the pillow under his face as he tries to open his eyes, then thinks better of it, far too aware of the sticky mess in his crotch.

Aziraphale will have to clean it the human way – wash it off his skin and out of his nightclothes, perhaps it even spread to his sheets – to make sure it will not appear on his miracle record.

He should not do this again.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween and/or Blessed Samhain according to your preferences!


End file.
